


Shiba Inu

by bible



Category: JUDGE EYES: 死神の遺言 | Judgment, 龍が如く | Ryuu ga Gotoku | Yakuza (Video Games)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Jealousy, Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27289369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bible/pseuds/bible
Summary: "Hamura-san. Do you think I look like a shiba inu?"Hamura nods, "About as cute, stupid, and loyal too."Kengo grins."Yeah, I like that. Same as being young, dumb, and full of cum."
Relationships: Hamura Kyohei/Kengo
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	Shiba Inu

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Askii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Askii/gifts).



“Fits quite differently than a basketball jersey.”

Kengo tugs at the front of the form-fitting outfit with a dejected sigh. It’s feminine, and Kengo’s ultimate goal is to avoid femininity at all costs. But if it’s to please his captain, then so be it. Anything for Hamura.

“What’s wrong with my basketball jersey?”

“It’s fine, when you’re playing basketball,” Hamura says. He’d picked him up from the court this evening. Waiting for him like a soccer mom, watching him play on that concrete court, the hoop backed by the hellish-looking sunset. The guys he was playing with weren’t yakuza, normal looking college boys with side-swept bangs and smiles of the unburdened. When they’d seen Hamura, they stopped playing altogether, but Kengo slapped hands like it was no big deal that he was getting in the car with what was so obviously a yakuza patriarch. “Not particularly fuckable-looking in it, though.”

Kengo scoffs but doesn’t object. He tugs at his own earring, self-consciously, legs crossed on the bed.

Konban Wife is one of Hamura’s regular go-to spots, apparently, and it makes Kengo seethe to learn that he’s been coming here for far too long. Probably longer than Kengo’s been alive. Kengo knows it’s impossible to expect Hamura’s celibacy to have existed before they met—especially considering how fast they moved. But he still likes to pretend that Hamura belongs to him and him alone. That there was no before-Kengo.

The downfalls of dating your boss. An older man.

He doesn’t know if they’re really even “dating,” but if ever asked, Kengo assures people that he’s indeed in a relationship. He never specifies who, though.

He can’t mull over the years he missed out on, since he thinks—no, he truly believes—that he’s Hamura’s number one. Even now. Whatever existed in the past is moot, even if it makes Kengo pout to think about. But whatever exists alongside him now, that’s just Hamura’s nature. They’re all back-up pieces, not the preferred boy.

Fuck that Higashi tool. Fuck Yagami, too, even though he’s not a part of Hamura’s life anymore.

Kengo’s the one being taken to a club, being put in a negligee the color of salmon belly, too revealing for his tastes but not enough for Hamura’s. Not _them_. He’s the one with pantyhose on that Hamura picked out, that grip the soft flesh of his thighs and don’t conceal the pufferfish tattooed on the right one, up near his cunt that’s also concealed in powdery blush-colored panties. Not them. Kengo thinks he’s getting preferential treatment, but he really doesn’t know. Hamura seems to have Kengo perpetually in-tow, but it’s not like he’s _always_ there. Hamura spends days alone, sometimes, and while Kengo would like to suspect he’s being a good, abstaining yakuza only working on that unnamed and highly secretive “project” with whoever this Mole guy is, he knows he’s probably getting his dick wet from time to time.

It’s not like he lives with the guy.

Well, that’s fine. Not like Hamura has many guys like Kengo.

How many of these fools have pussies? Kengo has what they never will. Unending obedience, and a good fucking cunt to boot.

Well, sure, maybe women do, too. But Kengo doesn’t think Hamura’s that into women. He’s certainly never seen him with one.

“Let’s see.”

Kengo’s blushing furiously, his back propped up against a wall that’s peeling with rose-patterned wallpaper from the Takeshita Administration’s era. He feels strangely exposed like this, despite the privacy of the room, despite the fact that Hamura’s had his cock in him too many times to count. Like he’s revealing some unseen part of himself. Not that he ever dressed this way pre-transition, either.

Hamura tugs up the hem of the negligee and pushes it over Kengo’s stomach, his hand finding its place between Kengo’s legs. His cunt is warm against Hamura’s long fingers, and Hamura gives Kengo a tilt of his head, the steel of his eyes burning into Kengo’s face. Kengo glances away, huffing between his lips, shifting in embarrassment.

“Look at me, Kengo.”

The demand is a cold one, the sharp tone of his voice reminiscent of Hamura’s instruction whenever they’re working. When he demands he follow him, demands he unsheathe the blade of his short-blade katana, demands he open up his wallet. It’s more order than it is a suggestion. And Kengo’s instinct is to obey, so he meets his gaze again, the loyal puppy dog that he is.

Hamura’s lips curl up, and Kengo sighs through his teeth.

“Don’t like this?” Hamura asks, pushing his wrist upwards, thrusting his hand hard against Kengo’s cunt. The cloth of the panties are smooth and satin and feel strange in the crease of his cunt. He’s accustomed to boxers, now. Kengo’s teeth grit at the pressure, but he shakes his head, nonetheless. His clit throbs.

“I like it.”

“What’s with the pouting then, darling?” The word is said the way it is in old, Hollywood romances. Unnatural, bitter with irony. Kengo can tell he’s pissing him off by being so closed-off and unusually unresponsive.

Kengo sighs between his lips which are swollen from kissing Hamura in the car on the way here. Puffy and red. He’d been more enthusiastic before he’d been squeezed into such a revealing little outfit.

“I feel like a tool in this outfit.”

“Do you? You look pretty and fuckable to me.”

Kengo clicks his tongue but knows better than to argue. Kengo’s subservient to death. He doesn’t want to be pretty though. He wants to be called degrading, masculine things, really. Shit, he’d prefer “faggot.” At least it’d affirm what he is.

“Maybe if I was drunk, this would be less embarrassing.”

“And here I thought you were the young and aware,” Hamura says, mulling over whether or not he should order a glass of shochu for him. But he decides against it. Kengo’s cute when he’s flustered, and too sloppy when he’s drunk. While it has its place, now isn’t the time. “Isn’t it your age that has dictated that all clothing is genderless?”

“Do I _look_ like I know anything about that?” Kengo says, “I don’t have a clue about gender politics, man. All I know is I look fucking stupid.”

Hamura laughs. For someone who’s undergone gender reassignment surgery, Kengo’s really not the type to examine anything about social norms—or otherwise. He knows what he wants, what Hamura wants, and doesn’t care for anything else. Or anyone. Kengo’s bullheadedness has its charm, certainly. Especially whenever he’s puffing air out of his mouth and pouting as Hamura peels the pantyhose half-way down his thighs, the delicate cloth of it tearing slightly whenever Kengo’s leg jerks.

“Stupid boy. You tore it.”

Kengo bares his teeth, kicks at Hamura, his heel planting itself on his crotch. His cheeks are alight.

“I don’t care. Can’t we get this stupid shit off of me?”

Hamura slaps him across the face. Not too hard, but enough to get him to behave.

Hamura’s dick is heavy between his legs, though, his erection tenting his slacks. White isn’t the smartest choice, really, since a damp spot bleeds coin-sized into the fabric, darkening it. At least someone’s having fun. Kengo’s doing little more than dryly humping his hand on instinct.

“Nope. Turns me on, seeing you all dolled up and cute for once. Kengo, you dress slick, but you’ve got no sex appeal in your usual get-up.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been wanting to fuck me since day one.”

“And he’s got a mouth on him today,” Hamura says with a wayward glance to the side, as if he’s consulting some invisible third party. Hamura rips the pantyhose between his legs, impatient with working it down those kicking legs, and tugs the panties aside. Kengo yelps, his eyes narrowing, and his knees knock together.

“Stop being so difficult.”

“It’d be easier if I was just naked.”

“Nope,” Hamura says, “I want you looking like a cute fucking househusband, a stupid fucktoy. This is what I’d have you wear, if that were the case, you see? Domestic bliss. Nothing but lingerie, since you’d be good for nothing else, anyway. And no one else would see you.”

Kengo’s nose wrinkles as his knees are parted by Hamura’s strong hands, those resistant thighs wrenched open, and he steps between them. Hamura’s clothed hard-on rubs against Kengo’s pussy. Dry as fuck. That won’t do. He’s really not feeling this outfit.

“I look stupid, alright. Isn’t that a little fucked up? Isn’t that—like—im-beading on my rights?”

“’Impeding.’”

“Yeah, that. This stupid outfit’s _im-peding_ on my rights, too.”

“Don’t be like that. I chose this, after all. Are you insulting my tastes, Kengo? I hope not,” he laughs, a dark sound, pressing two fingers to either pussy lip and spreading them, his fingertip circling his clit. Kengo twitches, sighs again, and sits back on his palms as he forces his lower body to relax. His chest rises and falls, the thin sleeve of his slip draping down his shoulder, revealing a puffy nipple.

“Besides, it’s only a fantasy. You’re a good fucktoy, for sure, but you make a better yakuza, Kengo.”

That does a little to restore his ego.

Hamura leans down and takes his nipple between his lips, suckling softly.

“ _Nngh_.”

Hamura grins at the wordless little noise, affirmation that Kengo’s actually into it. The smile scrapes against his skin as he does, and Kengo makes another precious, light noise. “Oh— _Ah.._.”

His teeth pluck at the hardened nub of his nipple, which quickly becomes more and more erect under the ministrations. Then softens, as Hamura warms it on the flat of his tongue, Kengo’s upper body shifting with each wet, saliva-laden ministration. Kengo sighs through his lips and finally, finally relents, wrapping his legs around Hamura’s hips and tugging him forward. The embarrassment seems to fade as soon as his chest is nursed, his hand sliding down Hamura’s back. He spreads his fingers.

“Hamura-san…”

Hamura pops off his chest with a wet noise, lewd and slimy. Turns his face up at him. Kengo looks dazed, his lips parted and eyes barely open as he inspects the fine wrinkles on his skin, the narrow bridge of his nose, the cruel upturn of his lips.

“You want me to use your vibrator?”

Kengo nods.

Hamura reaches into his suit pocket, the discrete egg-shaped toy a cheap one, but it does the trick when he needs it. He flicks it on, the buzz barely audible, meant for public play like this, and brings the end of it dryly to Kengo’s clit. It’s immediate, no prep around his labia, and Kengo yelps, his voice pitching up a few octaves at the sudden stimulation.

Still, his body reacts affirmatively, his pussy trembling and already beginning to dampen at the pressure.

“Oh, _shit_ —”

“See? Doesn’t it feel good when you’re obedient?”

Kengo falls back on his elbows and spreads his legs, a flush on his face spreading to his ears, his cheeks. When the vibrator comes in contact with the piercing on his clit, he honest to god has to stifle a scream behind his forearm, biting down on it. Usually he prepares himself with lube, or is at least turned on enough to be wet, but this dryness is chafing in a way, on the edge of painful. Kengo kicks at Hamura’s wrists again, taking some reprieve when the vibrator disconnects from his cunt.

“Jesus—couldn’t you have prepped me?”

“Oh, my mistake,” Hamura says simply, tossing the vibrator onto the bed that’s made up with these thin, plasticky sheets. They’re cheap. No doubt provided by the club in the case of bodily fluids, easy to dispose of.

Hamura drops to his knees and presses his face against Hamura’s cunt.

He smells good—musky and sour with old cum, his inner thighs sweating slightly from the basketball game from earlier. Kengo’s hand slides through his neatly styled black hair and catches hard on it, tugging him by the roots into his cunt.

“Suck me off,” Kengo encourages, feeling as though—no pun intended—the ball is back in his court.

Hamura opens his mouth and presses his tongue to his cunt, flat and wet and with a deluge of saliva that makes a filthy noise as it squelches up against Kengo’s pussy. Kengo’s legs wrap around his head to keep him in place, pulling him forward, holding him there.

Kengo’s cunt twitches as Hamura begins eating him out with a renewed voraciousness, the damp part of his thighs humid against his high cheekbones, his sharp jawline, against the way his tongue slips part-and-parcel into his hole. His upper lip catches on the nub of his piercing, and he fucks him lazily with his tongue.

Not that he makes much headway, but his jaw works nonetheless.

Kengo, for his part, just lays back, rubbing his cunt on Hamura’s face and mouth, his vision blurry with pleasure. He can feel the spit from Hamura’s mouth begin to mingle with the cloth of his satin panties, and it chafes against him uncomfortably, a bit slimy.

“Get your face in there, Hamura-san,” Kengo sighs, his cunt throbbing.

Hamura pulls back as soon as he opens his mouth, the cool, air-conditioned air hitting his cunt, making him twitch. Hamura never seems to do what he asks him to.

Kengo really needs to learn how to utilize reverse psychology.

Too bad he’s too stupid. He lets Hamura do whatever he wants. Lets him put him in a baby doll dress, lets him stop eating him out despite his demands otherwise. Kengo huffs.

He lets him unzip and slip his dick inside him, too.

Kengo jumps at the sudden intrusion. He hadn’t even heard him unzip, too busy frowning at the yellow-stained ceiling rotting through with dripping water from the overhead building. And now that big dick is spearheading into him, flesh hot and uncovered by a condom.

The first time they had fucked, they hadn’t used a condom, either. At that point in time, Kengo hadn’t told him about his hysterectomy. It was kind of a thrill, the unsafe potential of permanency, but there was no way Kengo would have ever let him do it otherwise. Still, it was proof of how _into_ Kengo Hamura really was, how much he wanted him. Wanted to cum inside of him and fill him up, this guy he had recruited into the family, this tough-as-nails yakuza brat—he wanted to breed him up.

Once they were done, Hamura had muttered something about picking up some post-coital contraceptives, but Kengo had just laughed and told him not to bother.

In the morning, when he’d explained everything, whatever lingering anxiety there was in Hamura was gone. He’d bent him over the tea table again and fucked him immediately, depositing the second load into him that night in the first twenty-four hours they’d slept together.

And here he is, again—

Kengo’s lost track of how many times they’d fucked. Too bad the guy was fucking old, though, because Kengo could go for rounds and rounds, until he was bloated with cum and leaking white, until he was just dripping with semen. Spreading his legs and pushing it out of his pussy, back onto Hamura’s dick. The kind of volume you see in hentai.

But Kengo has to ascribe himself to reality.

He’s always had a taste for older men, so _that’s_ not happening.

“What are you smirking about?” Hamura asks. Kengo shakes himself out of that humorously critical reverie and outstretches both hands, reaching up for him. Hamura leans over, hunkering down with a knee balanced on the edge of the bed. The motion makes him slip deeper into Kengo’s tight channel, and he groans as he relishes in that resulting protrusion in his abdomen.

“Hamura-san,” Kengo whines, kissing up his neck, his jawline, his ear. Possessive little smooches, his lower body rocking back against his hips, dripping wet and tight. Kengo doesn’t do much in the way of insertion, since only Hamura is interested in him. So he’s not as loose as he could be. Sometimes, he wants to be loose: hot and gaping and easy to slip into. But—again—

Older men.

Kengo giggles a little, high and fucked out, his lower body twitching, his abdomen full of warm sparks of energy. Hamura’s bent over him, fucking him with slow, brutal thrusts, like a dog fucking knotting. Kengo’s body odor is beginning to waft up, somewhat sweet from the detergent used on the little dress he’s wearing.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about your proposal,” Kengo says, with a strange amount of calm in his voice despite the fact that his words jump with every thrust of Hamura’s cock inside of him. He can almost feel how much pre-jizz he’s leaking, “And I think I might take you up on the offer.”

Hamura lifts his face out of the sweaty joint of his neck and his eyebrows hitch.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Kengo?”

“You know, being your househusband. A fuckdoll. Taking load after load and laying in your bed all day,” Kengo explains, casually, like he isn’t having his cunt pounded. Hamura’s thrusts speed up, sweat beads on his forehead, he feels his orgasm building. Kengo’s about to cum, too, his clit throbbing without being touched, “You paying for everything, me never having to lift a finger on your behalf again…”

“In your fucking dreams, Kengo,” Hamura growls, and slams his hips forward.

He goes still, cock shoved fully inside that tight boy, and braces himself with his palms laid flat on either side of his hips. Kengo spreads his legs as he realizes he’s being seeded up, a blissed-out look on his face, eyebrows drawn up and lips parted in adoration, his cheeks as pink as his dress. God, his cunt is throbbing.

He feels the way the cum slips out of him when Hamura pulls out, feels the hot drip of it out of his new gape, his clit swollen and needy. With a simple pass on Hamura’s pointer finger over his piercing, Kengo cums too, knees drawing together, his body shuddering. He pushes out the cum just deposited inside of him with the motion, his voice high-pitched on a whine.

It splatters against the floor with a drip.

A bit of it hits Hamura’s newly polished dress shoe.

“Ugh,” Hamura groans, his dick softening and sticky, resting against Kengo’s gash, “You’re fucking messy.”

“Not like I can help it. You’re the one that creamed in me. Hamura-san. Do you think I look like a shiba inu?”

Hamura nods, “About as cute, stupid, and loyal too.”

Kengo grins.

“Yeah, I like that. Same as being young, dumb, and full of cum.”

**Author's Note:**

> [here's my carrd](https://bibles.carrd.co/)


End file.
